To Err Is Human
by Ryla Dante
Summary: What if Dean and Sam Winchester met the world's most imfamous hitchhiker, John Ryder? Could they survive? Buckle up, you're in for one helluva ride! Supernatural,Hitcher crossover. Spoiler alert, takes place after 'Playthings.'
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** Okay, I worked hard on this one!! Had this in mind since I saw the re-make of The Hitcher the day after it came out, and I just had to let it out. It had been rotting long enough in there!! I hope I did John Ryder justice, in the film you could sort of feel for him in some ways. At the very beginning at least, LOL!! In here you feel nothing but pure hatred for the man, and I give a very small look into what started his killings. (it seems a little comical when you read it, but hey...) This is a crossover of Supernatural/Hitcher (the original, forgot to mention that right?? hehe)...which makes it all the more exciting. It takes place shortly after 'Playthings', so there will be spoilers for that eppy and past shows. Beware, you have been warned!! There will be severe angst, drama, and suspense. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Supernatural (Kripke is King!) nor do I own the Hitcher (That belongs to another Eric, and he should be commended for making a killer movie, sorry for the pun!) The plot is mine, save for one small idea I borrowed from "Where Angels Fall" By Faye Dartmouth. Hope that wasn't wrong. Don't come after me or anything!!

* * *

Dean tossed the Big Mac and salad into the back seat. It had been weeks since they had a job, and they had been reduced to playing poker and watching scrambled porn on a cracked 19 inch television set. He was about ready to break, needed something constructive to do, getting out of the motel room to get Sammy his goddamned salad was just not enough. Secretly he prayed he would choke on a radish. The too close quarters were getting to him, giving him cabin fever. Normally, seeing his brother day in and day out was not a problem, but lately he was becoming a whiney, sniveling baby. 

After Sam's little drunken escapade, things had been strained between the two of them, so much so that when Dean would try to talk to him, he would glare heavily and pretend to do research on his laptop. Dean wished that Sam hadn't made him promise him that . . . promise to kill his baby brother. It was just too much weight for him to carry, on top of every thing else he had to deal with. _"_Damn you dad you son of a bitch. You had to make me deal my brother the death card, whether I wanted to or not_."_ He opened his window and spit into the rain, the taste of the words gritty and salty on his tongue. It was blasphemous to speak ill of the dead, he knew that, but . . .

As he looked out the window, he noticed someone up ahead. He was wearing a long black duster, dark jeans, and a plaid shirt. His medium length blonde hair was partially stuck to the left side of his face. He had his thumb out, and looked eager for someone to give him a lift. Dean swallowed, not sure what he should do. He was used to dealing with daemons and vampires and ghosts, but humans were way off his radar. Socially he was a bit distant, zero for . . . whatever the hell he was, and always put up a facade which no one could see through, except Sammy. Squinting hard, he gripped the steering wheel. This was not the best weather for this, but as long as the guy did not have to go far, it would be okay. Pulling from the McDonald's lot, he sighed, hoping to God he wasn't making a huge mistake.

John smiled as he saw the Chevy inch its way out of the fast food joint. He could tell by the careful way the driver edged his way toward him, he was unsure of what he was doing. It was obviously his first time picking up some strange guy on the side of the road, and this made John smile even wider. He lifted his bag over his shoulder, and waited. This would be a hell of a ride. The kid had no idea what he was getting himself in to. He just hoped he was worth the trip.

Dean slowed down beside the man, and it was evident that he was soaked to his very marrow. The man looked to be in his early forties, and looked, as his dad would have put it: "Rode hard and put away wet." Dean could tell this man had been through something recently, but _what_ was not obvious at this point and time. The man leaned into Dean's view and knocked on the window, making him jump. Dean unlocked the door and the man took a seat beside him. He had a large satchel with him, and instead of just tossing it into the back, he set it at his feet. Dean eyed this suspiciously, but said nothing. The man lowered his collar, then thrust his hand toward Dean.

"I hope my sudden intrusion isn't a burden on your journey or anything." He smiled lightly, and Dean had to smile back. His first thoughts of this guy were wiped away, and he took the guy's hand. It was rough like leather. Callouses from years of hard work Dean assumed.

"The name's John, John Ryder. Been walking for a while now, the weather just sort of snuck up on me." He chuckled, then watched Dean closely. He laughed with him, feeling semi-safe with this man, but not sure why.

"I'm Dean Winchester. Yeah it did come out of nowhere." He let go of John's hand and leaned on the steering wheel, steeling a glance at the bag on the passenger side floor. John caught this and sort of half laughed.

"The bag? Oh that's just my most important property is all. Nothing to worry about son."

He patted the bag, then leaned back. Dean nodded in acknowledgment. He was well aware of private stashes and things. If this guy saw the shit he was carrying in the trunk, he'd probably flip his wig.

"So where ya headed?" Dean turned back to the windshield. The rain came down like cats and dogs now, blocking his view of the highway. John sighed, flapping his coat, sending small drops of wetness in Dean's direction. Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. John was looking in his coat for something, then finding it, he patted the spot vehemently.

"I need to only go so far up the road here. I'll tell you when we get there." Then he closed his eyes and shifted in his seat. He was asleep in a matter of seconds. Dean watched him a moment more, then drove forward, unsure of how a sleeping man could possibly tell him anything, but he ignored it.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N:** Here is the much anticipated Chapter Two. Thanx for the lovely reviews! From here on out things go down hill!! Warning in the angst department!

**Lux Fati**-There is some blood and violence i later chapters, but I dont think it will be enough to turn your stomach, I hope!!

**Robbie the Phoenix**-Yep, Dino made a mistake there, Sammy is gonna have a field day with him!! Sam's middle name should be trouble!!

**Disclaimer**: Supernatural - Eric Kripke The Hitcher-Eric Red, Dueling Erics' (do do-do do do do do do do) Okay, creeping myself out here. back to the story!

* * *

Sam sat up in the bed, looking at his watch. Dean was supposed to be back fifteen minutes ago with his salad. That was the last time he sent him out for food. He turned the TV on, but all he could get was news, home shopping and scrambled porn. Damn shit holes. The only saving grace was the small bar just off the lobby. Dean had eyed it as they were checking in, and Sam had to drag him away. 

Flipping the TV back off he got up from the bed and moved toward the window. The rain was really coming down out there, and this worried him that Dean was out in it. He knew that Dean was a good enough driver, but when the elements were against him, who knew what could happen. He just hoped that he was okay, and that nothing bad was happening.

XXXXX

Dean turned the radio down so as not to disturb his passenger. John's face was turned away from him, so he was not sure if he was still asleep or not, but he was not taking chances. He had not yet woken to tell him where to stop, and they had since passed the motel where he and his brother were staying nearly half an hour back. That upset him a little, also the fact that his cell phone was for shit out here. Another joy of staying out in the damned boonies.

Dean tapped his fingers along to the semi-quiet music, watching John and the road simultaneously. The bag at the man's feet almost screamed at him, as John moved again and was kicked to his left. Whatever was in there had to be important for him to keep it so close. Dean's curiosity was starting to get the better of him, but he pushed the feeling aside, and just in time. John sat up and rubbed at his eyes and nose. He yawned and then lifted the bag to his lap. Opening it, he looked over at Dean.

"It's just a up the way a little bit, not much further. Oh and, I know you've been rather curious about my property here." He gripped the bag closed, and turned all the way to face Dean. Dean pretended to be focused on the road.

"You see, I'd been on the road a while, and the last guy that picked me up was a lot like you." He looked in the bag and sighed. He shuffled something around and then shook his head. Dean began to get an uneasy feeling, but couldn't figure out why.

"He was young, never picked a hitchhiker up before." John continued, the bag open, but covered in shadows. "We had driven for quite a while, when he got too curious." John thrust the bag onto Dean's lap, and he almost had a heart attack. Inside the bag was the head of a man, looked to be around Sam's age. His eyes were wide with terror, and his neck had been severed, a hurried and jagged cut. Dean wanted to vomit, to send his stomach contents flying right then and there. John began laughing, low at first, then it echoed through the car and worked its way into Dean's ears, forcing his head to pulse and ears to ring. To err human, to forgive divine. Dean highly doubted there would be any forgiveness for this mess.

Dean fought to keep the car on the road, his nerves a millisecond from snapping. This _was_ a huge mistake, and John could read it all over his young face, and was loving it. Pulling the bag back, he pulled the leather cord, closing the sight from Dean's eyes. He rubbed it gently then set it back on the floor. Dean breathed heavily, as John slipped a hand into his duster. He left it there for a minute, letting Dean's mind wander and his heart near enough to explode. Pulling his hand back, John held a half empty pack of Marlboro lights and a Zippo lighter. He flicked the lighter twice, then lit it. The flame illuminated his face in the dim surroundings. Sliding a stick into his thin lips, he let it dangle there, sucking on it like liquorice. He then tilted his head to the left, lighting it, smoke enveloping them like an unearthly presence. Rolling his window down a hair, the smoke filtered out into the cool crisp night air. Dean's throat almost closed completely at the calmness of this stranger to his right. He was terrified.

"I can read you like a book son." John took the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke threw his nostrils. Dean eyed him, unaware of what was about to happen.

"You're afraid I'm going to do to you what I did to that other poor boy. Well," He took another long drag of the cigarette, then tossed it from the window. It flipped wildly in the wind. Dean watched it in the rearview mirror, and almost laughed at the irony of how it mirrored his own way of movement. Wild and unencumbered. He jumped as he felt a hand on his knee.

"You'd be right." A click at his right ear made his teeth clench and his balls shrink half a size. Fearing what he would see if he turned, he let his eyes do the work for him. At his ear was a switchblade knife, covered in dried blood. He closed his eyes, and the car swerved. John grabbed the wheel, placing his hand on Dean's.

"Oh my boy, we can't have an accident now can we." He yanked the wheel hard to the right, and Dean's eyes shot open as he felt the tip of the knife dig into his neck. Fresh blood slipped down his throat and onto his shirt. He felt a scream worm its way into his throat, but could not get past his tongue which had grown five times it normal size.

John pulled the knife back and smiled. He wanted this, wanted to see the fear in this young man's eyes. The last young man had died too soon. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he had become a liability. Sad though, he would have made a worthy advisory. Yet, young Dean Winchester seemed perfect, not too cocky, not too whiney. He seemed to be able to hold his own, thus far.

"Now, there is something I need you to do for me . . . " The knife back at Dean's neck, digging into his hot flesh. Dean swallowed, and the knife cut him again. He shuddered, wishing he had not picked up this lunatic. He wanted to be back at his shady motel with Sam watching scrambled porn. As God was his witness, he would never complain about that shit ever again.

"I want you to bleed!" John placed the knife just below Dean's left ear, and made a move the slice his neck, when Dean's brain finally fired like it should, and he slammed his foot on the brake. John shot forward, his head hit the dash with a loud crack, and Dean could see blood seeping from a wound on his forehead. He hesitated a moment, then slipped his seatbelt off and threw the passenger door open, tossing John out into the rain-soaked street. He hit with a sickening thud, his head smacking the white line. Dean stared at him, breathing heavily, as rain poured into the car. As he reached for the car door, he saw the satchel that John had left on the floor, and threw it out with him. It bounced beside him and then rolled into a bush out of sight. Dean slammed the door shut, and spun around and headed back to the motel, not daring to looking back.

XXXXX

Sam woke from a restless sleep to the pounding of the motel door. The glow in the dark numbers on his watch read nearly midnight. _Who the hell could it be at this time of night?_ Then his mind unclouded, and he realized who it was. Rushing to the door and thrusting it open, there stood Dean, looking pale and gaunt. He seemed to be in another world, and before Sam could say anything, he pushed past him and ran into the bathroom and Sam could hear him vomiting. What startled him worse than that, was the blood he saw on his brother's neck, just below his right ear. _Christ Dean, what the hell happened to you?_

Dean hung to the side of the bowl for dear life. The last hour had been a nightmare that he had so desperately wanted to escape from, and now that he had, he wanted to make sure he was on safe and solid ground. He could hear Sammy asking him something about blood, but in his own world, all he could think about was that maniac and his calm demeanour. It unnerved him, and it took an awful lot to do that to the 190 lb., 6'1", 28-year-old Winchester. His facade had been shattered, shattered by a man and a knife. Jesus Christ, he had been through so much shit in his young life, too many goddamned monsters to count, and one man takes his brain and twists it until he could no longer comprehend anything. Sam banged on the door, sending a shockwave of chills down his already weak frame. He flushed the toilet and managed his way to the bathroom door.

Sam stood in front of the door and watched it open to reveal the languid features that were now his older brother. A man that normally towered over him, even though his inches were less, a man who seemed so hard was now reduced to a wan and worn child.

Placing a strong hand on his older brother's shivering shoulder, Sam gently escorted Dean to his bed and set him down, keeping a close watch on the man's eyes. They were filled with terror and kept scanning the room for something or someone. Dean reached up to the blood that had now begun to dry just at his earlobe. He winced as the memory came back to him, and he bent at the waist unable to take it. Sam sat beside him and held his brother, waiting for the fit to end, hoping he would tell him something, not liking the fact that whatever had happened had sent his brother over the proverbial edge.

Dean sat up, letting a grunt escape his tight throat. Looking into his brother's worried eyes, he poured out the entire story like a waterfall. Sam sat back and soaked it all in, trying to remain calm as the words flooded his brain. Some maniac in a cowboy duster, with a knife, turned his hard ass brother to goo. The saints preserve us!

"Christ Dean," Sam stood and looked out the window once more. The rain was coming straight down, and as it traveled down the window it looked like blood. Sam quickly turned back to his brother, feeling instantly sick to his stomach.

"Did you check to make sure he was dead?" Sam knew this was the wrong thing to say, but he knew it had to be asked. Dean glared at him, and jumped up from the bed. His right hand was clenched and his face was now a light shade of red.

"Gee Sammy, why the fuck didn't I think of that? I was too goddamned busy getting my ass out of dodge." He inhaled deeply and pressed his left hand into his forehead. His head hurt, and his stomach was rolling, and all Sammy was asking him was if the guy was dead. _Who the fuck cared, he was alive, didn't that matter?_

"Shit Dean, I'm sorry. I just want to make sure he won't come after us." He gripped Dean's shoulder tight, reassuringly. Dean shook it off and flopped down on the bed. Sam stood in front of him a moment, shaking his head at his stupidity. Once again he was being an ass, and he knew it. Usually Dean was the jerk and the snot nose punk, but lately he was the one with a bug up his butt. Turning from the sinking figure on the ripped motel fabric, he walked into the bathroom looking for some antiseptic for the cut under Dean's ear. It looked like it was going to be a long night.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Wow, I can feel the love for this story!! Loving the reviews!!

**Lux Fati:** Oh please don't do that, I couldn't afford to have a passed out fanficker on my hands! LOL Just take deep breaths, and calm yourself, hehe!

**Robbie the Phoenix:** Well after this you may actually fall _off_ your seat. By the way, thanx for the favourite!!

**Disclaimer:** Read previous chapter. Thank you, please come again!

* * *

John had laid at the side of the road for ten minutes, rain pouring down on him, matting the rest of his hair to his slightly aged face. Hidden by shadow and strategically placed bushes, he could lie unseen. Then, a Ford truck, going way too damn fast in this weather, had hit a puddle and splashed water into his face, waking him. He sputtered and spit the foul, muddy waste back at the blacktop and the metallic taste of blood stung his palate. He spat again, but it lingered. He pushed himself off the highway, but felt dizzy. Blood dripped from his head in slow, steady drops. Leaning on one arm, he touched his head gingerly. There was a sizeable wound there, which made him chuckle. The boy had done a bang up job, pun fully intended. He had met his match in this one, and planned on seeing this out till the end. 

Sitting a moment longer, he pushed himself up once more, the dizziness lessened. He noticed that his bag was missing, but that was of no matter, there was nothing else in there that was important. He looked for his knife, and smiled when he saw it lying next to him on the road. Slipping it back into his coat, he started the trek to Dean's motel. He had not been asleep at all during the drive. He was being very observant, watching Dean's every move. As he stepped from the shadows, a car passed him, then stopped. John grinned, as he fixed his coat and sauntered over to his next victim.

XXXXX

It was now nearly one thirty in the morning, and Dean was trying to quell the pang in his stomach with infomercials. He still had a headache that no amount of Advil would cure. Sam lay on his own bed, never taking his eyes off his older brother, and it began to put Dean's teeth on edge. Then when he thought he was ready to throw the remote at him, Sam stood, stretching his mammoth frame.

"If you'll be okay for a few, I'm gonna go to the motel bar for a cup of java. You want?" He eyed Dean a moment. Dean blinked then shut the TV off. Slowly turning his head in Sam's direction, he looked at him in disbelief.

"Did you not hear _anything _I told you over an hour ago?" Easing his way off the bed, he stood shakily. Thrusting a hand toward the rain-soaked window, Dean squinted hard. His headache had now taken up residence behind both eyes and felt as if Michael Flatley was holding auditions back there. Standing up had not been a good idea. Before he fell to the floor in a dead heap, Sam was at his side. Dean was out as soon as Sam had him back on the bed. Placing his head on the pillow and a blanket up to his chest, he sighed. It was hard seeing Dean this way, trading rolls like this was altogether different. Rubbing his brother's arm tenderly, he grabbed his coat and left for the bar.

XXXXX

The scotch and water looked less and less appealing to him as the night drug on. This was beginning to irk him, and he hated to be impatient. He liked the fast pace of things, but he needed to wait, needed the boy to come to him. Setting the half empty glass aside, he reached for the bowl of peanuts as another young man entered, shaking his long brown locks. He looked somehow similar to Dean, but also very different. The boy had to duck just slightly to get through the front doors, he observed, since his towering body was just past the doorframe's limit. He had hazel eyes that held a secret, and this was where the similarities began. There was a wisdom about those eyes, way beyond his young years, much like Dean. Running a hand through his wet hair, he searched the small bar for a seat, and the man waved him over, patting on a stool next to him. The young man looked apprehensive at first, but nodded. He made his way over and sat down next to him, thanking him.

"Not a problem young man, not a problem." He took Sam's hand in his before he could react and shook it. Sam smiled half heartedly. The man let go and shook his head.

"If manners were a check, mine would have bounced. I am sorry, my name is Frank Thompson." Sam eyed the man, then took his hand again. He seemed like a friendly fellow, and looked nothing like the guy that Dean described. This guy had black hair with a beard, and was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt under a bomber jacket. Nope, no duster nor blonde hair.

"I'm Sam Winchester." Then as soon as he said that, he regretted it. He wished he had used a fake name, but it was too late to back out of that one. Yet this guy looked harmless enough, so why did he feel like he had to hide his identity from him?

"Mind if I buy you a drink?" Frank panned his hand over the bar. Sam started to shake his head, but he already had his wallet out. "Joe, get Ol' Sammy here whatever he wants, and get me another scotch will ya?"

At the sound of his nickname, he winced. It made him think of Dean back in the motel room, laid up, suffering. He was being selfish at the present moment, and had been lately. Maybe he should just get his bloody coffee and get the hell out of there.

"I just need a couple coffees if that's okay. Hope I don't offend you." He smiled slowly at the man to his left, and Frank shook his head. He handed Joe the money and he shrugged at the mention of coffee. Sam could hear him mumble something about cappuccinos and yuppies. Sam just rolled his eyes. _What did Joe care? He wasn't paying for them._

As the guys sat there, Sam watched Frank closely and saw a small bandage over his left eye. It had been a flesh coloured one, so when he had first seen him, he had not noticed it. Frank took a sip of what was left of his scotch and water, then cleared his throat.

"If you are so curious, why not just speak up. It's rude to stare, or hasn't Dean been able to teach you anything?" A slow smile crept across his face. Joe had come back with Sam's coffee, but he refused to take them. He was too in shock to even think. He had been fooled, and that pissed him of royally. As he began to stand, he felt something jabbing him in the stomach. Looking down, he saw a knife, the tip of the blade digging into his skin. He gripped the bar with one hand, and Frank's arm with the other. Frank stood, and was a mere three inches from Sam's face.

"Say anything, and the knife becomes a permanent part of your anatomy." Frank whispered softly into Sam's right ear, the heat from his voice and the smell of the scotch burning his neck. Sam nodded, his hands dropping to his sides. Frank tossed one hundred dollars at Joe.

"Don't say I never gave you nothin'." Then he turned Sam around and shoved him through the front doors.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N:** The reviews are in, and the verdict is: It's a hit!!

**Robbie the Phoenix:** Thank you, thank you. I'd bow if I wasn;t afraid of wacking my head on my laptop's screen, LOL. You make me feel good. Be prepared for more suspense, horror and drama. It gets a little hairy after this!! In the immortal words on Sam Jackson "Hold onto your butts!"

**Disclaimer:** Refer back to previous chapters, thank you!! I only own the plot and random characters!!

* * *

Dean woke up to the rising of the sun. The rain had stopped hours ago, and the windows were almost dry. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the bed by the door, and saw that Sammy was gone. Assuming he was in the shower, he paid it no never mind. Then he realized he did not hear any water. Checking the clock on top of the tv, it read 6:45. Unless Sam was taking a piss, there was no reason for his baby brother to be up this early. Looking at the bed again, he noticed it had not even been slept in. Trying to remember the last thing Sam had said, when suddenly fear shot through him like a bullet. He had told Dean he was going for coffee, but he never came back. _Oh shit!_

Jumping up from the bed and slipping into his jeans, he grabbed the car keys. He did not even think about a shirt or a coat. He was too focused on the task at hand to worry about his ensemble. Throwing the door open, he saw something on the outer side of it. It was Sam's driver's license nailed to the door, and it was covered in blood.

XXXXX

John watched Dean open the door from inside his new vehicle. The '69 Charger was the perfect match for the Impala. The driver had been a forty-five-year-old man on the verge of a mid-life crisis. He was an endless talker, loved flower power music, and confessed to having kids in at least five states. Well, at least the meeting hadn't been a total loss for John. It had been bloodier than he would have liked, messed up the leather a bit, but he fixed that right up. Now you'd never know that a babbling narcissist had ever owned it. John grinned, then returned his thoughts to Dean.

He watched Dean punch the door, hard. He could hear quite a few expletives, and a few he was sure Dean had made up on the spot. Then the door slammed shut, and a moment later he came back out fully dressed. He smiled broadly as Dean opened his trunk and took out a .357 Desert Eagle. Slipping the .357 behind him in the band of his jeans, he slammed the lid shut. He stood there, stoical, his eyes glassy and void of life. His brother was hurt, possibly . . . No, he couldn't think like that. He would not lose another family member, and not to a raving psychopath. Turning from the rear of the car, he paused, scanning the lot.

John knew he could not see him. He was still in disguise, his hair now pulled back. He laughed at the thought that, even his own mother wouldn't recognize him. Of course she could not recognize much of anything anymore, seeing as he blinded her when he was merely thirteen.

They had gotten into a huge fight over a boy he was spending too much time with. He had come home way too late one night, apparently drunk, so she grounded him and took away his television set. So he got pissed and he took something from her. That had been the first time he had ever attacked anyone maliciously. After that he acquired a taste for it, and hadn't stopped since.

Dean, for the moment at least, was sure he was safe. He headed for the bar, hoping maybe someone had seen Sam there.

XXXXX

The manager rubbed his partially balding head. The task of cleaning and locking the place up was usually left to his brother David, but he was busy screwing Perry's ex-wife. He was lucky to even be alive, let alone still working at this rat house. Perry had just turned the key in the lock, when an agitated young man rushed up to him, ranting and raving about someone named Sammy. He had enough on his own mind without worrying about some drunk's bullshit. Perry pushed Dean gently out of the way and slid past him to his truck.

Perry had been woken at nearly midnight by that dick-headed brother of his, telling him he wouldn't be in tonight, and could Perry kindly help out. He gave in, as always, and rushed his sorry ass down here in the pouring rain. The weather had been atrocious to say the least, and now his Ford was covered in mud. Putting a hand to the doorhandle, he felt a tug from behind. If that punk had his meat hooks in him, he was going to be a dead sum bitch.

"If you knew what was good far ya kid, you'd let me go, right now!" As he spun around, the young man he was expecting was instead replaced by a man closer to his own age. His black hair was pulled back in a short pony tail and a cigarette dangled from his thin lips. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of a worn bomber jacket, and when he saw the look on Perry's face go from anger to confusion, he pulled out his right hand.

"Really? I think I have something so much better than what you're offering!" John revealed a switchblade in his thick, weathered hand. Perry pushed back against his truck, but knew he was in deep shit. Dean stopped under a streetlight that was just beginning to flicker out in the morning light. As the bulb flashed, he caught the sight transpiring before him. At first he was unsure of what he was seeing. The man he had tried to speak to only moments ago, was talking to another man. They were very close to each other, almost in a threatening manner. Yet the first man seemed to be one that was afraid, even though he was almost twice the other man's size.

As Dean watched this, he saw the second man smile, and his stomach dropped. There was no denying who the aggressor was. John Ryder! Dean turned around, his back slammed against the light. He breathed hard, feeling vulnerable and open. Hoping John had not seen him, he edged his way back toward the bar, just as he heard a gagging sound. Dean shot up, forgetting his head, and saw the man from the bar drop to the ground. Blood pooled around his neck. John was still smiling as he wiped the blade of his knife clean and slipped it back into his jacket pocket. He leaned down in front of his victim and said something Dean could just barely hear, and it made his whole body quiver.

"Thought you could get away with your little drive-by huh? Sometimes the most innocent of incidents can be the ones worth killing over." He stood, then kicked at a small puddle, causing the filthy mixture to rain over the body. John laughed joyously, then headed off in the other direction.

XXXXX

Dean sat in his car, not quite sure how to comprehend what he had just witnessed. John had just taken a life for something as innocent as a puddle to the face. What the fuck would he do to Dean for what he had done? Or Sammy? Dean shook his head, not wanting to even go there. He held Sam's license in his hand, rubbing it absent mindedly. He felt tears begin to well in his eyes, but pushing them away, he slammed his fist into the dash. _Goddamn it Sam, why'd you have to go? Why couldn't you just stay with me?_

Pulling the Desert Eagle from his jeans, he checked it once again for bullets. Satisfied that all ten shots were there, he cocked it, and laid it on the seat beside him. Like his father always said: 'Guns and booze, you could never have too much of both.' With the former at the ready, he removed his flask from his coat and took a pull. The whisky burned, but it was so damn good and helped to clear his head. At least for the time being. He made the move to put it back, but thought better of it and tossed it onto the seat with his gun.

Dean slipped the key into the ignition, but hesitated. This was going to be a hell of a fight, and he knew that either he or John was going down. He had to prepare himself for the fact that he may not make it out alive. The thought danced through his head, sending a pain across his frontal lobe. Gripping his forehead, he wished he had a bottle of Advil handy. Maybe this was how Sammy felt, and as he thought his brother's name, the pain was gone. The synapsis between his hand and brain were firing on two different circuits. The key had been turned before he knew what had happened, and the car roared to life.

As he turned the car onto the highway, another black car blocked his path. Dean eyed it a moment, then caught sight of the driver. The silhouette of John Ryder sat patiently in the front seat of the Dodge, as if waiting for Dean to make the first move. The car revved loudly, irking Dean to no end. He responded by revving right back. The rpms shot up to 20 and fluctuated between 25 and 30. John chuckled to himself at the newfound challenge before him. Then, to Dean's complete surprise, John shut the car off and stepped out. He leaned against the door and lit another cigarette. Dean's anger rose with the rpms. How this man could be so cool and calculated, pissed him off.

Dean took his foot off the brake and slipped the car into drive. He had the bastard right where he wanted him, and he wasn't going to let him get away. Slipping the car into gear, he slammed on the gas and the car lunged forward. John stepped out of the way, to reveal Dean's worst nightmare. Behind John in the car, bound and gagged, was Dean's baby brother.


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N:** Ok here is the next Chapter. As if the last Chapter didn't leave you breathless, and in need of Nitro, (hehe, you know who your are) this one will have you pushing up daisies. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **What'd I tell ya last time?

* * *

"In Heaven lay Angels, in Hell lay Devils. Where do you lay Dean?" The words were barely above a whisper. Dean stirred, and felt pain everywhere. He opened his eyes to see white light everywhere, so bright it blinded him. He put a hand over his eyes and saw plastic below it. He blinked, and the light dimmed, and he saw that the plastic was a hospital bracelet. The name Collier, Dean was printed on it. It was still February 19th, 2007 and he had been admitted at 7:05am. Looking at the clock on the wall, it read 6:21pm. Almost twelve hours . . . His heart began to race as past memories rushed back like a tidal wave. He tried to sit up, but found it difficult. _Oh Christ, not again. I've died, again. Once again I've left Sammy al . . . _

Dean stopped in mid thought as something else hit him. His head hurt, but he could just barely remember why he was here in the first place. Now his breathing was in pace with his heart, and he could hear the monitor next to him screeching. A nurse rushed in, and pressed a button then checked his IV bag.

"Mr. Collier, please, you have to stay still." She grabbed his shoulders with small, gentle hands and pushed him back onto the bed, but he fought. "You were in a bad accident, and you need to . . . " He shoved her away, his left arm burning from the exertion. He looked at it and saw the IV needle in his elbow and a long bandage from the needle up to his wrist. He was afraid to ask, but . . .

"Miss," He gulped, his throat dry and raspy. It felt sore like after having strep throat for a week. She caught his discomfort, and poured him a glass of water. He drank it, but it went down like glass. The pain was excruciating.

"What happened?" He managed to get out after a few futile attempts, and this one only a whisper. The nurse, her name was Aedon, had to lean in to hear him, her breasts almost falling out of her uniform. If Dean had not had been in so much pain, he would have taken time to enjoy the view.

"You came in after being in a car accident. You were unconscious, and your heart had stopped twice. The doctors had to inject your heart the second time with adrenaline. I was there and it was intense. When you came back that second time, you said one word, and one word only: 'Sammy.' Your brother?" Dean took it all in, then stared her dead in the face. Pain be damned, he would find out about Sam.

"Is my brother," Cough. "Okay? Did he," Dean hacked loudly, then spit into his empty cup. Aedon cringed. There was a little blood in it, but Dean just waved it off. "Did he survive?"

"Well, see for yourself." She walked over to the curtain beside Dean's bed and pulled it back. Lying on the next bed was his little brother, broken and unconscious. There were tubes and cords all over him. Dean felt sick as he saw how much Sam mirrored his own condition from only four months past. Tears fell from his eyes, and this time he let them.

Dean yanked the needle from his arm, fire shooting up his arm then back down. Aedon tried to stop him, but he was out of the bed before she could reach him. He was after all, much stronger than she was, even in his present state. Dean coughed again, this time it made him buckle over. He grabbed at his chest, and felt something soft under the gown. Once the fit was over, he pulled the shirt off and saw a large patch of gauze on his chest. Aedon pointed at him solemnly.

"When you came in, you had a large piece of glass imbedded in your chest. The doctors had to do surgery to remove it. You really shouldn't be moving, Mr. Collier." She reached for his shoulder, but he swerved away from her touch. He stared at his brother.

His right arm broken once again, a broken left leg, and a tube in his nose. Dean watched as an oxygen pump thumped up and down, the vision all too familiar. Dean stood way too fast, and felt the floor before he saw it. Aedon ran to his side, and again he pushed her away. Dean was done. He wanted out of here, wanted revenge. He didn't give a flying Wallenda if he was stable enough to do this, John Ryder had met his match.

XXXXX

Losing the Charger had been a bit of a loss to John, but it was only a car, and he was able to pick them up as easily as he could kill. The whole thing had happened in a matter of seconds, but to John it seemed like hours. Dean slamming on the gas and the sound of him changing gears. John calmly stepping aside to reveal the youngest Winchester for slaughter, oh it was priceless to say the least. When he saw the look on Dean's face, he almost came in his pants it was that good. He knew that Dean could not stop. The meshing of the two black babies was inevitable. The space between them was only a mere ten feet.

John chuckled to himself for the beautiful wake-up call he gave to Dean. He knew that Dean was able bodied enough to keep going, so being the reason. Watching him from across the hall, stumble and fall all over himself was enough to make him scream in ecstacy. He kept wanting to yell for him to get up, to keep moving, but that would be stupid, ignorant. Besides, he was enjoying himself too damned much.

Turning back to the elderly woman in the bed next to him, he ran a hand through her silver locks. Her eyes were glossy and vacant. She had a stroke the week before, which left her dead to the world. John cooed in her ear, knowing full well she could not comprehend anything he was saying.

"So sorry Martha, things as they are, they can only get better from here." Petting her like a dog, he slipped a pillow over her head. There was no struggle, only a mere gurgle, then nothing. Placing it back under her head, and fixing her hair, he took the keys to her caddy.

"Nice doing business with ya!"

XXXXX

Dean forced a shirt over his head, biting his tongue against the stinging in his left arm. Aedon had told him that his arm had gone through the windshield. Just the image of this made his stomach reel. Then his next thought, and it was a wrong one, was of his car. He had just fixed the damned thing after their dad died, now what would he have to do to it? Was it totaled? Then he wanted to kick himself for letting that even cross his mind. Sam was the important factor here, not the goddamned Impala. Yanking the shirt down across his chest, he looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn't realized how bad he looked.

Small bandages covered jagged and irregular cuts on his face, marring it. There was particularly long one on his left cheek. Dean touched it, sighing deeply. His eyes were dark and inset, and looked more like that of a racoon then a human. His skin was pale, even more than it was before. He looked like death warmed over. Dean turned the hot water on and let it run until the sink was enveloped with steam. He thrust his hands under the scalding water and, barely feeling it, rubbed some on his face.

As a little colour returned to his face, at least for the time being, Dean left the room in search of the bastard that damaged him and his brother.

XXXXX

At the front desk, having to lean on it since his legs were still weak, Dean waited for the nurse to bring his paperwork so he could sign himself out. The sounds of crying, laughter and yelling filtered through the bustling hallways and into Dean's already pained head. As he stood there, three doctors and a nurse ran past him screaming something about a code red. A buzzer was going off and they rushed onto an elevator and Dean could see they were going to the ICU ward. His entire body went into paralysis. _Sammy, oh God please don't let it be Sammy!_

The nurse was on the phone yelling something that had to do with the code. First it was a bunch of medical terms Dean only heard on ER, then he heard one sentence that was not lost in translation.

"That's a code red in room 341, Samuel Collier. He's not breathing!"


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N:** Okay, here is the next Chapter...Now put down the pitchforks before you put an eye out!! LOL Sorry for the short Chapter here, but that is how it was saved on WordPerfect!! Enjoy just the same!!

**Disclaimer:** I think you get it by now, right? If not...(rolls eyes) LOL

* * *

"13, 14, 15." The doctor finished his seventh set of compressions and had just started to breathe into Samuel Winchester as Dean stepped into the doorway. His brother was limp, and just as pale as he was. He heard one doctor yell something about 'airway obstruction.' Dean slid down the doorjamb, close to breaking at that moment. 

The memory of the night he had saved his brother as a baby flashed before his eyes. Cradling him in his arms, so tight he was afraid he would break. Sam had fussed, almost cried, but Dean knew that his brother trusted him to always take care of him, from that day till the end of time. He was Sammy's protector, was entrusted in guiding him through life when their father went on hunts without them, leaving them with baby-sitters because they were too young just yet. Then when they were of age, John Winchester told his eldest son that Sam was important, and to be kept close at all times. Dean just floffed it off as his dad being dad. Now he knew that he was right, and wished he had been a better brother. Then when their father had passed, leaving them to take care of each other, to trust each other all over again, what did he do? He retreated into a shell that no one could break. He pushed Sammy away until he was forced to construct his own fortress. Now here was his baby brother dying before his very eyes, and he was incapable to stop it.

A nurse pushed past him, bringing him back to reality, and he saw the same doctor still working on Sammy. Then he watched as the doctor slammed his fist down in his brother's chest.

"I will not lose this boy, not here not now!" He hit Sam once more, and his chest heaved, and the heart monitor jumped to life. The doctor turned and caught Dean's eyes. Their emotions were identical. It was as if he had felt the loss as much as Dean did. As he left the room, he placed a firm hand on Dean's shoulder.

"When you have been as close to death as I have, you learn to either become best friends with it, or its worst fucking enemy." He gripped Dean's shoulder, then walked out, leaving Dean to wonder what he had just witnessed.

Dean stood next to his brother's bed, watching for a sign that his eyes were going to open. It had been two hours since the code red, and his condition had stabilized. The doctor said that something had cut off the flow of his oxygen, causing respiratory distress and made his heart stop. Dean knew what happened, and he was biding his time. He had eaten a little and kept on his feet the entire two hours. He was feeling better, at least on the outside. On the inside he was dying. His brother was in a partial coma, and the man that put him there was out doing who knows what to who knows how many people. The thought gave Dean another headache.

He touched Sam's arm gently, his skin warm. Sam's face had just as many bandages as Dean's had, but not as small. The longest of his was on the right side of his face. It ran from the top of his forehead and down the top of his lip. Dean felt a sudden pang of guilt, and knew that he shouldn't, but in a way it had been his fault. If he hadn't of picked the asshole up, if he had just come back to the motel with Sammy's goddamned salad . . .

"Don't worry Sammy," He gripped Sam's hand tightly. "I'll make him pay for this. You make bank on that!" Leaving the room, Dean never noticed Sam's hand move.


	7. Chapter Seven

A/N: In this Chapter you will see why John Ryder is so hell bent on coming after the Winchester boys. (Just my take on him.) Just one more Chapter after this...hope you are enjoying it!! Just let's keep the farming implements at bay, shall we?? LOL

Disclaimer: Blah Blah, yada yada, sis boom bah. You get the idea already.

* * *

The front end of the Impala looked like someone had grabbed it from the right, and twisted it too hard to left. The front bumper was bent under the body of the car, and locked into the wheel well. The axle had snapped and the wheel had popped out. The wheel well had pushed back into the driver side door, locking the door in place. Both headlights were smashed and the grill was pushed inwards and the windshield was gone. The speedometer only read 30 mph. It was surprising anyone had lived at all 

Dean leaned against the chainlink fence in disgust. This was going to take a lot of work to fix, but that was for another day and time. He just hoped he could open the passenger side door.

Forcing open the passenger side door, the owner of the impound lot grunted and groaned.

"You do realize that whatever's in here probably ain't no good now dude, right?" He pulled again, and the door popped open with a loud creak. Dean shook his head, then searched the car for his gun. A few minutes of looking through scattered metal and broken glass, he found it under the seat next to his flask. He slipped his flask back into his coat.

"Dude is that an Eagle? Sweet." The young punk leaned over the broken door to steal a glance at the weapon in Dean's hand. Ignoring him, he rechecked the cartridge. A full load. Putting the gun once again in his jeans, he thanked the kid and left.

Outside the lot, Dean gritted his teeth, held back even more tears that threatened to fall. Sammy was all he had and now he was on the urge of falling apart, breaking like the Impala itself. This was so foreign to him, and it made his chest hurt more than it was already. He coughed, trying to remove the tightness in his throat, but it was impossible. He slowly opened the door to the taxi, staring back at the Chevy, then slipped into the backseat. He told the driver to head back to the motel. He knew John would be there, and Dean was ready for him.

XXXXX

As he walked into the bar, John set his glass of scotch down. He paid Joe and stood to come face to face with his opponent. Dean smiled, one hand behind him on the butt of the Eagle, tapping it lightly. He was willing to do whatever it took to take this son of bitch out, even if it meant a bullet to the brain right here and now. John smiled back and motioned toward the doors. Dean pursed his lips, but took the man's lead. He wanted this over as quickly as possible.

"So my boy, you've come to kill me?" John stood next to the '87 Cadillac. The land yacht did not seem like a very practical vehicle for John Ryder, but when sources are limited, you takes what you gets. Dean chuckled in spite of himself at the site of the boat in front of him. It was more suitable for a blue haired old bitty than a knife wielding maniac, but hey.

"I guess along with being a psychopath, you are also psychic." Dean leaned against the vehicle next to John, paying close attention to his hands. He didn't want any surprises. John smiled broadly and lifted his hands into the air.

"Well officer, as you can see, I am unarmed!" He laughed loudly, and Dean groaned, wanting to take Ryder out at that very moment. His sarcasm and annoying little quips were enough to drive any man to murder. Dean still had his right hand behind him on the Eagle. He wanted to be ready, just in case.

"So, uh, nothing up your sleeves then? Not gonna pull a Lance Burton on me or anything?" John smiled again, but shook his head. He stared off for a moment, then looked back at Dean, an entirely different look to his face. He seemed darker, more sinister. Dean's heart skipped a beat, but he kept his cool for the time being.

"You see kid, playing with you is the best part of the job. I don't want to go whole hog and get my hands all messy just yet." He slipped a hand into his pocket, and Dean gripped the .357 hard. John closed his eyes, then continued.

"Your brother was my best work. I simply needed someone pissed enough, with a fucked up enough history to pull that off for me. You picked me up, and little did I realize the skeletons hidden in your linen closet." He turned fast on his heels, eyes wide open now. He had the knife in his hand, and before Dean could even think, it was pressed to his jugular. John's other hand was pressed against Dean's back. This man was so much quicker than he had assumed.

"Losing your mommy so young, then just months ago you lost daddy. I mean you have a majorly fucked up past my friend." Dean's hand slipped from the gun. This man, he was no longer just some stranger, some raving lunatic. He knew things about Dean and Sammy, and that made him sick. The emotions flashed on his face before he could stop them, and John relished in it.

"I know more than you could possibly imagine Winchester. Mary was a beautiful woman, so young and innocent, and the fire destroyed it all. You were just a small boy holding little Sammy on the front lawn there with John by your side. It would have been such a Hallmark moment, had it not been so sad." He dug the knife into Dean's throat, making him gasp. He felt blood slip down his throat again. _Christ, this man had been there, seen everything, knew everything. _The tears he had been holding fell and mixed with the blood.

"It wasn't a chance meeting then, me picking you up?" Dean spit out between tears. His back was now up against the caddy, the gun pressing into the glass of the driver side window. John nodded.

"I had been tailing you for years Dino old boy, just waiting for the opportunity to fuck with your pretty . . . little . . . head." He slipped his hand from behind Dean's back and gripped his throat. The mixture of the sting from the cut and the pressure caused his knees to buckle. He grabbed for John's arm, but felt a warmth in his right arm. Through creased eyes, he saw the knife slice his wrist. Blood dripped heavily from the open wound onto the cement parking lot. Dean felt woozy and lightheaded, but he kept his composure. He had to stay up, keep fighting, for Sammy.

Dean pushed at John with his left hand, knocking the knife from his hand sending it skirting under a nearby car. John scowled and took a swing at Dean, never losing his grip on Dean's neck. Dean blocked it, and twisted John's arm, hearing his wrist snap. John howled, and let his hand fall from Dean's throat. He hacked and spit, bending at the waist. John cradled his wrist, screaming in pain. Dean stood slowly, and grabbed his gun, spinning in John's direction. Seeing the business end of the automatic, he grinned.

"So, I see you _did _come to kill me." He let go of his wrist and stood to his full height. "Killing monsters is easy boy, but do you have what it takes to kill a living, breathing human being?"

Dean looked at the gun, the metal glistening under the lot lamps. John was partially right, and damned if Sammy hadn't told him the same thing. So many memories flashed before him, he could have sworn he was dying all over again. But the memory that was the most pristine, the most vivid, was him revving the car, and slamming down on the gas. That son of a bitch had just casually stepped out of his way and there sat his only living relative, a look of terror on his face, knowing that he was about to die, and Dean was his murderer.

"John, the only thing in life we can be sure of is death. And I will have the greatest pleasure in insuring yours!" Dean cocked the gun and pointed it at John's head. His hand was steady, and he was no longer dizzy and lightheaded. Blood still dripped from his wrist, but he paid it no never mind. John closed his eyes.

"So, the student surpasses the teacher. Well, then thy will be done!"

Dean stepped closer to John, the barrel of the gun pressed tightly into John's flesh. He gritted his teeth once more, then hesitated.

"Oh, by the way John . . . " Dean leaned into John's right ear and whispered the last words he would ever hear.

"I lie in the heart of my brother."


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: **Thanx to everyone who reviewed this story! I enjoyed writing it, and re-reading it. It was my favourite. Took a lot out of me I think!! Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!!

**Disclaimer:** Moving on...

* * *

At the hospital, Dean sat on the edge of a bed in the ER. Aedon was working on his wrist. She had already put a small bandage on his throat, shaking her head the entire time. 

"I told you to stay here, didn't I?" she had scolded him, but he just rolled his eyes at her motherly words. For the first time in the last twelve hours, he was content and safe. John was lying in the parking lot, a bullet hole to his cranium. Dean was satisfied, and that was all that mattered. When Aedon finished, she cleared her throat.

"Aside from all the bumps and scrapes, you're a rather handsome man. Do you think . . . ?" Dean touched her hand softly, but shook his head. This was the last thing he needed right now. A romance right out of the gate. He thanked her for a job well done and then walked toward the door. He was stopped by the doctor that saved his brother's life.

"Mr. Collier, I have been trying to find you." He was smiling and seemed a little too upbeat to be a doctor. Dean ignored it. "Your brother awoke shortly after you left, and has been asking for you."

Before the doctor could say anymore, Dean rushed out of the room and to the elevator. The doctor yelled back the floor and room number. Dean waved absently, and entered the elevator with revelry. He was overjoyed that Sammy was awake, and kept pressing the buttons, wishing they'd get him there faster. As the door opened to the 5th floor, he ran down the hall to room 510 and threw the door open. Sam lay there, startled by the intrusion, but when he saw who had burst in, he almost cried.

"Dean, what, what happened to you?" His face lit up at the sight of his older brother, and before he could say another word, Dean flung his arms around him. The shock of this brotherly affection sent him reeling. He hugged him as best he could, since only his right arm was useable. Dean pulled back, almost sobbing. The sight of his brother a blubbering mess, sent Sammy over the edge. Tears poured down his torn and pale face. Dean touched Sam's face, almost not believing he was real.

"Oh Sam, I just . . . " He could barely speak, his throat choked with tears. At least this time it was for a good reason, and Sammy was going to be okay. Sam held his brother's hand, the gentleness warming.

"Is this what it takes to bring us close? If it is, we should do it more often." Sam joked, but Dean pulled his hand away. He glared at Sammy, unable to hold back his hurt. Sammy squinted, realizing that was the dumbest thing he could have said right now.

"I'm sorry, I was just . . . "

Dean stood, his back to his baby brother. The pain from hours ago, before all the shit hit the fan, came flooding back. He hated it, hated the fact that they did this to each other. No matter the tragedy, they always seemed to find fault with one another. Dean would close up, and Sam would pick a fight, just to get him to open, to get anything out of him. Then when Dean did say something, it was usually a crack shot, then Sam would be the one to close. It was like a sick game they played, and no one was fucking winning.

"Look Sam," Dean sat beside his brother, but did not look at him. "This son of a bitch did a number on us, scrambled our minds something serious. He played with us like we were rats in a maze. Has been since we were kids."

Sam heard the last part, and swallowed. He grabbed for Dean, and caught onto his shirt. Dean turned back to look at him, and saw fear in his eyes.

"Yeah, he told me he had been watching us when mom died. Followed us ever since. Used me as a total mind game. Knew so much about us, it was as if he . . . as if he was a part of us." This made Dean shudder. He took Sam's hand in his and stroked it gingerly.

"Don't worry though. I took care of him. Just like I promised, I killed the bastard." He stood and swiped a stray hair from his brother's face. "It's getting late. Maybe you should get some real sleep. I'll stay here and keep an eye on ya. 'Kay?" Leaning over the bed, he did something totally unexpected. He kissed Sam on the forehead, then wiped at the tears that had fallen from his eyes.

"Seriously man, what happened to you?" Sam chuckled. Dean stood up and crossed his arms.

"I just realized that there was someone more important in this world than me." He moved to the bed beside Sam and grabbed a pillow, then pulled a chair up to his bed. Placing the pillow under his head, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

A few minutes later, Sam's voice broke through the quiet.

"Hey Dean? Did you ever get my salad?"

Dean opened one eye, then saw a smile form on his brother's face. Lifting the pillow from behind his head, Dean tossed it at Sammy. They both laughed. Dean lay back against the chair, his hand on Sam's arm. They stayed that way until morning.


End file.
